


Untitled

by invocations



Category: Princess Tutu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-04
Updated: 2011-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:49:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invocations/pseuds/invocations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writing, for him, isn't easy. Three drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

If he let his feelings flow into his story without protest, he knew for certain that she would change into a girl. But the town might crumble, creating holes and loose ends that must perpetually be righted. Circumstance could still tear her away from him- she could forget everything (because ending is inevitable), she could leave him (because she calls him a jerk and she’s right), she could fall into a river and drown (because you can never know with her).  He cannot afford to be irresponsible. His page remains resolutely blank as he watches a small duck glide by.

~

—Is the synchronicity of a town worth endangering for the sake of a _duck_?  Autor preaches possible anachronistic threats but is cut short, jaw cracking backwards from a punch.

The pig-headed fool speaks of bigger exchanges in tales penned by bigger writers; of the smallness of the town and the greatness of happiness; that there is a hidden debt hanging over all of them and _they owe her_.

—You forget; fairness and stories are mutually exclusive.

— _But we are more than tales!_ The shouted words are met with silence not only because they are true, but because love lurks beneath.

~

He’s acting really weird! After a long day of thinky jetty-sitting and unsuccessful attempts to ply him away, he scoops her up with black-tipped fingers. But, how funny! The papers shoved under his arm contain nothing but scribblings-out and finger smudges. She’s unsure of what it means, but she notices that it scrunches his brow and shortens his temper. Ah! Maybe a dance would cheer him up! She wriggles away but he holds her tighter to his chest. Huh? But it is warm there and the dusk is cold, so she settles against him, wings folded in a small prayer.


End file.
